4
Nikki doesn't get dressed.
She shifts out from under me and sits on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, naked and glowing and entirely unbothered by either of those facts.
Her hair is a disaster, tangled and damp at the temples, and there's a flush across her chest that spreads up her throat and into her cheeks, deep pink against her pale skin.
She looks recently fucked in a way that goes beyond disheveled into something that feels like evidence — bite marks surfacing on her collarbone, nail scratches along her shoulders, her lips swollen and dark.
Between her thighs, a thick trail of white is already leaking from her, and she notices me noticing.
"See?" She touches herself lightly, pressing two fingers against her slit, and pulls them apart to show me the sticky thread of cum that stretches between them.
Her pussy is swollen and red and still twitching with residual aftershocks, and the visual tightens something in my stomach even though I just finished inside her thirty seconds ago. "Told you it would look cute."
She sways slightly, catches herself against the armrest, and laughs — a slow, sloppy laugh that sounds drunk even though she hasn't had anything except a sip of my beer.
"Wow. My legs are actually shaking. Feel this."
She takes my hand and puts it on her thigh, and she's right — there's a fine tremor running through the muscle, a residual vibration that she can't seem to turn off.
"So that was round one," she says.
"That was round one."
"Don't look so surprised. You think I came over here to get bred once?"
She reaches for my beer on the side table and takes a long sip, then holds the cold bottle against her flushed chest and gasps at the temperature difference.
"I want to make sure it takes. I'm thinking two rounds, maybe three if you can manage it. I'm not leaving this apartment without being absolutely full of cum."
Her eyes drop to my lap, where I'm sitting soft and spent against my thigh, and a calculating expression moves through her dazed face — the first sign of real focus cutting through the post-orgasmic fog. "I need you to stay ready for me. Can you do that?"
"Give me a minute."
"I'll give you something better than a minute."
She slides off the couch and back onto the floor between my legs, that same fluid drop to her knees, though she sways more this time, still loose and uncoordinated from the orgasms. She takes me into her mouth before I can formulate an objection I wasn't going to make anyway.
She's gentler this time, slower, her tongue working the underside in long, lazy strokes that are designed to rebuild rather than overwhelm.
She cups my balls with one hand and holds the base of my shaft with the other, and the combination of warmth and pressure and her steady, patient rhythm starts to do its job.
I feel myself thickening against her tongue, the sensitivity from round one making each stroke sharper, more precise, every nerve ending still raw from the first orgasm.
She pulls off and rests her cheek against my thigh, stroking me lightly, maintaining contact. Her eyes are dreamy, half-closed, and she's still flushed, still trembling faintly. She looks like a woman who got exactly what she came for and immediately started planning the next acquisition.
"Can I ask you something?"
"You've had my cock in your mouth twice tonight. I think we're past formalities."
She laughs, and it's a real laugh, unguarded, the kind that crinkles her nose and shows her back teeth. "Fair. Okay. So Ben — you know how I told him about the breeding thing?"
"The thing where you want his baby."
"The thing where I want a baby. Important distinction." She circles the head of my cock with her thumb, slow and deliberate, her eyes sharpening through the post-orgasmic haze. "He thinks it's just dirty talk. He thinks it's a kink. Just something I say because it turns me on."
"Is it?"
She looks up at me, and her face does something complex — several expressions sliding through in quick succession before settling on one I can't fully read. The dazed, cum-drunk softness hardens at the edges, just for a second, just enough.
"I mean, who knows? Maybe it is. Or maybe I get pregnant tonight and neither one of you knows who the daddy is for a while." She tilts her head, and her smile doesn't reach her eyes in any direction I recognize. "Wouldn't that be something?"
She says it like a joke. The cadence is right, the timing is right, the little shrug she gives at the end is right.
Everything about it reads as casual. Everything except her eyes, which stay fixed on mine with the steady, unblinking focus of someone who has been thinking about this for much longer than tonight.
"You're a little insane," I tell her.
"You already came inside me, so that's really more of your problem now than mine." She takes me back into her mouth, and I'm hard again, fully, straining against her tongue, and she works me with the slow confidence of someone who is exactly where she planned to be tonight, even if the plan shifted.
My phone buzzes. I pick it up. Ben again: wtf are you talking about?? Im coming back now
He didn't open the photos. Or he did and he doesn't believe them. Either way, he's coming, and the thirty minutes he gave us is already evaporating.
"Ben's on his way," I say.
Nikki pulls off my cock and glances at the phone. She doesn't look worried. She doesn't look anything other than turned on and focused and certain, the cum-drunk glaze sharpening back into something predatory.
"Then we better get started on round two."
She stands, and her body catches the lamplight in ways that remind me why I said yes — pale skin flushed pink across her chest, her nipples tight and dark, her thighs still glistening with the evidence of what we just did.
She turns to face the couch and puts her hands on the backrest, bending forward, and the view from behind her resets my understanding of what a body can do to a room.
Her ass is absurd from any angle, but from here — bent over, her spine curved, her waist narrowing into the dramatic swell of her hips — it looks like something engineered to end rational thought.
Round and full and heavy, pale flesh already marked pink where my hips smacked against her during round one, spread just enough to show her pussy still wet and swollen and leaking my cum in a slow, white trickle down her inner thigh.
I stare because I can't do anything else.
She's built like a provocation from this direction, thick thighs tapering to her knees, the full weight of her ass and hips framed by the narrow architecture of her waist, every curve amplified by the angle and the light and the mess I already made of her.
"This time I want it from behind," she says over her shoulder, and the look she gives me is all heat, no humor, the dazed sweetness from two minutes ago burned off entirely. "And I want it harder than the first time."